Twisted - Esme Devlin Page 0,115
tonight, aren’t you?”
There’s a tone to his voice that really does make a lump form in my throat. “What do you mean?”
“Pretending that I scare you as I am so I won’t keep the mask on. Clever indeed. You prefer me with this face?” he snaps.
“I have no preference.” I say the words too quickly for them to sound wholly truthful.
“Lies. Don’t lie to me. And don’t lie to yourself, either. We’re beyond that now.”
Do I prefer him without the mask? Honestly, I don’t care if he wears it for the rest of the world. I don’t care if he wears it ninety-nine hours in every one-hundred. But I don’t want for him to feel like he has to. Not with me. “I would prefer it if you took it off sometimes.” I try to keep my voice steady as I tell him the truth.
“You would?”
“I would.”
He lets out a slow laugh, and the hair stands up on the back of my neck, and I can’t even fully explain why. “Very well. I shall have to relieve you of such foolish desires.”
He reaches out, grabbing hold of my arm before I can make any move to dart back.
My reactions are slow due to being away from him.
Due to the fact it’s not really him.
Well, it is him, but it’s not. I don’t know.
He yanks me with him toward the bed. My heart beats inside my ears. “What are you doing?”
Nothing.
Silence.
I’ve learned to fear what he’s thinking more when he says nothing at all.
“Baron?”
“You want my face? You shall have it. You shall have everything you want, precious girl. But I won’t have you gazing at it with love hearts for eyes. No, none of that.”
He lifts me up and perches me on the wooden footboard of the bed, nestled in between two of the bars.
“You can learn to both loathe and crave this face as much as you did the last one.”
“Wait,” I cry.
“No.” He pushes me back but grabs hold of my legs before I can topple all the way over.
My body tilts up at the most unnatural angle, and I try to get up on my elbows, try to pull myself back up, but he leans over and locks his arm across my rib cage. “Stay. Don’t make me threaten you, little girl. You know what that does to me.”
My insides twist as I bite down on my lip and watch him drop to his knees.
His hands lock around my legs, spreading them wider than I thought possible, short fingernails digging into my skin.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, trailing kisses up the inside of my thigh. “Tell me,” he says, biting down hard and making me squirm. “Did anyone put their hands on you while you were gone?”
“No.” The word comes out hoarse, and I try again. “No.”
He chuckles. “Good. But tell me they did. Tell me someone else put their fingers right… here.”
He brushes over my clit with a single featherlight finger, and I gasp at the sensation. “Why… why would I do that?”
His other hand joins in, fingers dragging down my slit, and nothing can stop me from squirming. “Because someone could have. Someone could have touched what belongs to me.”
“But they didn’t.”
“But they could have,” he snaps. “You chose to follow. You would have left, had Celeste not wagged her tongue. Someone else could have had this because of those choices. And they were your choices.”
I try to get up, to shake my head, to argue, but he drives his fingers deep inside me and my actions, my words, turn to nothing.
“Hmm, what was that? Were you trying to say something?” He curves his fingers around inside me, fully aware of what he’s doing to me and reveling in it.
“I’m sorry.”
He lets out a laugh. “No, sweet girl. No, you are not. But you will be.”
“I am—”
“I’m going to remind you who this—” He drags his fingers out and slaps me between the legs. Hard. “—belongs to. I’m going to force you to the edge, again and again. And all you have to do is tell me to stop… just before you get there.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if you come, sweet girl, you lose. And if you lose, I win. And if I win, I’m going to take a knife and scratch my name into your thighs. And if you let me win a second time, I’m going to scratch it into your stomach. Your back. I’m going to mark every fucking part of your beautiful